Turn the Page
by zelda49
Summary: EricOC Spoilers for 3.20 'Killer Date'. Eric tries to come to grips with Speed's death, but discovers he can't do it alone.
1. Follow Through

A/N: I started working on this one quite a while ago and only recently realized I never finished it. I've tweeked the chapters that were already posted, and added a couple more for your entertainment...and put the seperators back in! :-D

Enjoy!

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Music was blasting throughout the club, the bass pulsing through every molecule of Eric's body. He smiled, a glass in one hand and his cell phone in the other, scanning the crowd. He lifted the glass to his mouth to take a drink, but found nothing but rattling ice cubes. Glancing down at his phone, he noticed the lack of activity and decided to hit the bar for a refill.

"Whisky sour," he told the bartender, setting his glass down.

The woman next to him wrinkled up her nose. "I prefer amaretto," she grinned.

He turned to look at her. _She's pretty_. "Amaretto sours are kind of a girly drink," he smiled back.

"I know," she conceded with a laugh. "But promise you won't judge me based on my drink choices."

His smile grew into an amused grin. "Okay. I promise." The screen on his phone lit up, flashing a message from a nearby club-goer, and Eric's eyes darted to it.

The woman's gaze followed his, unable to read the small text on the screen, but guessing what it said by the look on his face. "Ah, I see you have other plans."

He typed a few words quickly before looking up again. "Uh, yeah, I guess I do now."

"Girlfriend?" she asked curiously. Then, backpedaling, "Not that it's any of my business."

He shook his head lightly. "Not a girlfriend," he answered good-naturedly.

"She must be important, though. You seem excited to see her."

Another message flashed on screen, and he replied to it quickly. "Actually, I don't know who she is."

"Just that she wants to hook up with you," she added, catching on. "And you don't want to know more than that."

He stopped typing and looked at the woman beside him, raising an eyebrow. "You disapprove?" It was more of a statement than a question.

"Like I said," she responded nonchalantly, "it's none of my business." The bartender brought their drinks over and she lifted hers to her lips, taking a sip. "All I know is that I left my friends and family to move to Miami—I don't have anyone here, and I'd like to change that. Anonymous is the last thing I want."

"Well, you're not me," he told her, hitting the send key.

"Nope," she replied. She watched him down his drink and turn to head back out into the crowd, but grabbed his arm before he could disappear. "Hey…" She waited until his eyes met hers before continuing, "You seem like a nice guy—if you change your mind about the anonymous thing and decide you want to actually get to know someone, come find me."

He managed a small smile for her. "Yeah, okay."

She released his arm and allowed her eyes to follow him into the sea of people, unsure what it was about him that attracted her. He was, after all, just a guy looking for a quick meaningless score. _And _he had just blown her off to do it. But there was something about him that grabbed her interest and held it firmly.

_Could be his looks_, she smirked to herself. _Those big brown eyes and that killer smile…yum-my!_

Finishing her own drink, she knew that his appearance was only part of the equation. She just couldn't nail down the rest.

"Call it intuition, I guess," she said aloud to no one in particular. "Let's just see if he comes back."

ooo

A week later, Eric lost his badge during one of his nameless encounters, and it was used to perpetrate a crime. That was the wakeup call he needed and, with the support of his friends, he decided it was time to pay a visit to the departmental psychologist.

When his turn came, he stepped into the office and stood uncomfortably in the middle of the room.

"Have a seat," Dr. Jamison offered, gesturing to several pieces of furniture.

Eric hesitated. "Should I lie down on the couch?" he asked, only half joking.

She smiled. "If you like. And we can talk about your childhood imaginary friends, too."

Realizing he was being teased, Eric smiled back and took a seat in a comfortable chair across from the therapist. "So where should I start?"

"Well, let's start with what made you decide to come in today."

"I guess it's because I've been behaving…well, pretty recklessly." He described his habit of sleeping with women he didn't know or want to know. He told the counselor how uncharacteristic this behavior was for him, how he had never treated women that way before, how he would have never risked his own health like that. He described his colleagues' concern for him and how he pushed them away, becoming defensive when he really had no reason to. He talked about the girl at the club, too, that had shown concern for him even though he was a complete stranger to her, and how he had brushed her off like he did with everyone else.

"My best friend was killed in the line of duty a couple of months ago, and my coworkers think that my, uh, recent behavior has something to do with that."

"What do you think?" the psychologist asked.

Eric blew out a breath. "I think they might be right, and that his death might be more than I can handle alone, which is why I'm here."

"You're a smart man," she told him. "You may have figured it out a little later than you would have liked, but you've accepted the fact that you need help dealing, and a lot of people never do that."

"So what now?" he asked tentatively.

Dr. Jamison leaned back in her chair. "You need to grieve the loss of your friend," she said. "It sounds to me like you want comfort, which is why you seek these women out, but you're afraid that you'll lose anyone else who gets close to you, the way you lost your best friend. If you allow your friends to get close to you again, and allow yourself to confide in them, it would lessen the load you carry mentally and emotionally, and help you grieve."

"That sounds great, Doc," Eric shrugged. "But I don't think I can do it. I can't just walk up to the people closest to me and say 'hey, you wanna talk about Speed's death?' It doesn't work that way."

She nodded. "It _is_ hard to talk to people you know. The better you know them, the harder it is sometimes to open up to them." She made some notes on the pad of paper in her lap and thought for a moment. "So start with something simple…a topic that's comfortable, or a person you don't know as well. What about that girl you talked to at the club?"

He eyed the doctor, wondering where she was going. "What about her?"

"You said you were attracted to this woman, right?"

He nodded slowly. "Yeah."

"Then follow up on that," she instructed. "Find her, get to know her. It'll get you in the right frame of mind to patch things up with your close friends, give you a little practice trusting people again."

"You want me to use her as a guinea pig?" he asked incredulously.

"Of course not," the psychologist corrected. "Think of it this way: if things work out with this girl from the club, then at the very least you have a new friend, someone else to open up to. If it doesn't work out and you two don't become close, then at least you've taken a step in the healing process, and you'll be in better shape to repair your current relationships."

He mulled that over for a few minutes. "I might be able to do that," he decided. "I normally would have asked her out anyway…"

"Good," she smiled. "Give it a try and see how things go. I want to see you back here in a week or two, and I want to hear all about her."

Eric smiled. "My homework is to date a pretty girl," he chuckled. "If I'd have known that before, I would have come in sooner."

Dr. Jamison returned his smile. "Just take it slow," she cautioned, walking him to the door. "Don't force anything…let things happen naturally."

"Okay," he replied. "Thanks for the advice."

The therapist patted him on the shoulder. "Good luck."

ooo

Every night for a week Eric showered and changed his clothes after work, heading out to the same club where he had met the amaretto sour girl. He would dance a little and try to have a good time, but kept his eyes peeled looking for her.

Sunday night he struck gold. She came in a few minutes after he did and made her way to the bar, dancing in rhythm with the music as she moved. He smiled and wove his way through the crowd toward her.

"Amaretto sour," she told the bartender just as Eric reached her.

He leaned against the bar. "I prefer whisky," he remarked, flashing her a grin.

Recognizing his voice and, when she turned, his face, she laughed. "Hey! I was wondering if I was ever going to see you again."

He lowered his head a little and replied, "Well, I figured I'd better find you because I owe you an apology."

"For what?" she asked.

"For blowing you off," he told her.

She waived a hand at him dismissively. "People blow people off in bars all the time," she reminded him. "It's no big deal."

"It is," he insisted. "You were trying to be nice to me, and all I was interested in was doing something stupid."

"And how did that go?"

He sighed. "I said it was stupid, right? Let's just say I've learned my lesson."

Her drink arrived and she took a sip. "So now what?"

"Well, I was thinking that you and I might hang out a little…if your offer is still good."

"My offer to get to know each other?" she smiled. "Yeah, it's still good."

He straightened up and extended his hand to her, returning her smile. "My name is Eric."

She grinned, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. "I'm Shauna."


	2. Nice to Meet You Anyway

Eric and Shauna took their drinks out to the patio behind the club where space was more plentiful and the music was less intrusive. Finding a little table in the open air, they settled down and smiled at each other.

"So what made you change your mind?" Shauna asked. "I mean, you seemed pretty set on your not-so-close encounter the last time I saw you."

Eric's smile took on an uneasy quality, and he diverted his gaze to his glass. "Yeah, I guess I was. A very good friend of mine was killed in the line of duty, and I thought I was handling it. Turns out, I wasn't." He shook his head and met her eyes. "But you don't want to hear about my problems…at least, not when we just met."

She nodded understandingly. "How 'bout a rain check, then? If you want to talk about your friend, just give me a call, okay?" She scribbled her phone number down on a cocktail napkin and handed it to him. "Anytime."

He took it from her and stared at it a moment before folding it securely into his wallet. "Thanks," he replied, drawing his eyebrows together in confusion.

She grinned a little self-consciously at his expression. "What?"

He shook his head in response. "I was just wondering why you were being so nice to me. You don't even know me."

"Well, you did apologize to me," she reminded him. "And I suppose I could be reading you wrong, but you seem sincere. I'd be willing to bet that tonight wasn't the first night you came here looking for me, either."

Eric chuckled, a bit embarrassed that she'd figured him out. "You got me there. I've been here every day this week."

"See? I had a hunch you were a decent guy. That's why I was nice to you." Shauna smiled broadly. "And I figured if I was wrong, well, at least you're good looking."

"So it's all about looks?" he asked, laughing.

"Well, like you said," she replied, taking a sip of her drink, "I don't really know you."

"Let's fix that."

Shauna could feel herself blushing under his steady gaze, and was thankful for the dimness of the glow from party lights hanging around the awning. "Alright," she said, keeping her voice light, "Let's start from the beginning. Are you originally from Florida?"

"Sort of," he answered. "My mother is Cuban and my father is Russian. I was born just a few weeks after my family crossed over from Cuba, and I've lived here ever since."

"So there _is_ such thing as a native Floridian," she smiled. "I thought everyone down here was a transplant like me."

"We come in all different varieties," he agreed, "including transplants. Where are you originally from?"

"Pennsylvania," she told him. "A little town called Shamrock." She grinned when she saw the blank look on his face. "It's about an hour and a half outside of Pittsburg," she explained, "in the middle of nowhere."

"Oh, so you're a country girl," he teased.

Shauna rolled her eyes. "If I hear even one joke about cow-tipping…"

Eric laughed. "Okay, okay, no jokes. But Miami must be a big adjustment for you, coming from a small town."

"To a degree," she nodded. "I went to college at Penn State and worked a couple of years in Pittsburg, so I've been in an urban environment. Miami is different from any place I've ever been, though, I'll give you that."

"How did you end up down here?" he wondered curiously.

"A job," she replied. "My degree is in Sports Medicine, and getting a job often involves the people you know as much as your qualifications."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise, but let her continue.

"So when a position opened up at the University of Miami for an athletic trainer with the football team, I applied for it and crossed my fingers, but didn't really expect much—I don't have any contacts outside of the clinic I worked at."

"But they offered you the job," he finished. When she nodded, he added, "Then you must have really impressed them."

She smiled modestly. "I'd like to think so. In any case, when they offered, I accepted. Packed up everything I own a few weeks ago and headed down here with Francis."

"Francis?"

"My dog," she laughed. "I named him after Ron Francis—he's my favorite hockey player."

He stared at her in amazement. "Wait a minute, you moved all the way down here from Pennsylvania with nobody but your dog?"

She nodded. "Yep."

"Wow," he continued. "And I thought it was a big deal for me to go to college at UM, half an hour from home."

"It is a big deal," Shauna told him seriously. "It isn't the distance you travel that matters, it's what you do when you get there."

Eric considered that for a moment, then smiled gently. "I like that."

"So what did you do at UM?" she asked, shifting the conversation to him. "You've heard about me, now I want to know about you."

He obliged, telling her about his science classes—something they had in common—his collegiate baseball career, his work with the diving unit at MDPD, and his current position as a CSI. She listened carefully, asking questions, showing a genuine interest in his story. When he told her about getting spiked sliding into second base during a baseball game, showing off the two small puncture scars he still wore on his forehead, she even reciprocated by lifting her knee into his lap and explaining how she'd blown out a ligament playing hockey with her brother, pointing out the scar from the surgery she'd had to repair it.

"That explains why you named your dog after a hockey player," he laughed, squeezing her knee amiably as she shifted it back to a more lady-like position. "You're a puck head."

"Oh, don't worry," she teased, patting his hand, "I like baseball, too. It's actually quite entertaining when you watch the game in fast-forward."

He reached for his drink, grinning at her last comment, and his watch caught a sliver of light in just the right way, drawing his attention to it. "Damn," he muttered, the smile fading. "It's three a.m. already. How can it be that late? We've only been talking for…"

"…a few hours now," she finished for him with a sly smile. "You have to work tomorrow?"

He nodded. "In a few hours. I'm on at eight."

She laid a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I shouldn't have talked so much. We could've left earlier if I hadn't been running my mouth. But Mondays are film days for the team…"

"Football in May?" he interrupted. "Even if they play in a bowl game, the season's still over by the beginning of January."

"Yeah," she confirmed. "But spring practice is going strong, now, and there's plenty of film to watch from last year. The sports med staff needs to be there for the boys that still want to get a workout in, but not until two. I forget sometimes that other people work earlier than I do."

"It's okay," he insisted. "Really. I'll feel like crap all day, but spending time with you tonight was worth it."

She giggled a little and tried to deflect the compliment. "Well, just remember that when you're out at a scene, almost falling asleep standing up, and the only thing keeping you awake is the immense pounding in your head."

Eric groaned, rising from his chair and sliding a hand over the small of Shauna's back as she followed suit, heading with him in the direction of her car. "Yeah, that'll be great," he replied with mock enthusiasm. His expression changed in the next instant, an idea occurring to him that lit his face like a light bulb. "Why don't you make it up to me?"

"How?" she wondered curiously.

"A friend of mine plays on a rec league softball team, and he talked me into going to his game on Thursday," he responded. "I love the sport, but I'll be bored out of my skull watching a bunch of construction workers jog after fly balls." He raised his eyebrows at her and smiled charmingly. "But if I had company, the evening would be a lot more appealing."

She laughed out loud. _He is too cute._ "Construction workers suddenly become acceptable entertainment if I come along?"

"The conversation will definitely be better with you there," he grinned. "And maybe we can do something afterwards."

"I like it," she told him.

"First pitch is at six," he said, stopping beside her when they reached her car.

Shauna frowned in thought. "I might be able to get _out_ by six on Thursday…"

"Then you can meet me at the field," he added quickly, "whenever you get there."

She smiled again. "Sounds like a good plan."

"I have the directions to the place at home…but I have your phone number in my wallet," he remembered. "Can I call you later?"

"You better," she chuckled, fishing her keys out of her purse. "Or else you're on your own with the construction workers."

Eric laughed. "And we definitely don't want that."

They said their good-byes and he waited while she stepped into her car, pulling out of the parking space safely, before searching out his own vehicle.

_I guess Dr. Jameson was right_, he thought as he walked. _It was a good thing I went back to find her._

"She did offer to listen about Tim when I'm ready," he said aloud, climbing behind the wheel and turning the key in the ignition. "And maybe I'll be able to take her up on that sometime. But until then," he smiled, "I have her phone number and a date Thursday." His smile widened as he shifted into gear, realizing he was excited to see her again, something that he hadn't felt in quite a while. "And _that_ should be interesting."


	3. Take Me Out to the Ballgame

Shauna rolled up the last of the athletic tape and stashed her medical scissors in their drawer, flicking her wrist up and checking her watch. _Six thirteen. Damn. And I haven't even changed yet._

As she continued to clean up her treatment room, she went through her options. She could swing by her apartment and change her clothes quickly before heading over to the softball field where she was meeting Eric; it was on the way, and would only take an extra fifteen minutes or so. On the other hand she could just go in the khakis and polo shirt she was wearing because it was already…she checked her watch again: 6:32. _Damn again._

Shauna sighed, feeling her compulsive need to be on time kicking in. "Okay compromise," she said aloud. "I'll just wash up quick here so I don't smell like football players, and wear what I have on. I won't look as cute," she grinned, "but he's waited long enough."

Thirty minutes later she was pulling into the parking lot, searching softball diamonds for a team wearing red and blue, Eric's construction workers. There were three.

"I'm gonna have to work for this one, eh?" she chuckled. "I guess that's fair—he came to me Sunday."

She cruised slowly through the complex, searching the small contingent of spectators at each field until she found him. He sat in the bleachers, foot tapping with excess energy, scanning the parking lot every few minutes.

Shauna giggled, pulling into a space nearby and hopping out of the car. She made her way to the stands, greeting him with an apologetic wave. "Hey."

His face brightened immediately. "Hey, you made it."

"Yeah, finally," she replied, plunking herself down beside him. "Sorry I took so long. I had a couple of stragglers that I couldn't get rid of—they're all gung ho this time of year about football, and won't leave practice."

"It's something in the air," he told her.

"You mean besides the pollutants and the humidity?" she quipped.

He chuckled. "Yeah, besides that. There's something about the beginning of a new season that gets you going. Always happened to me during spring training."

"The beginning of the season is when you need the most care, too," she continued with a smile. "Remember how sore you were during spring training?"

He winced in remembered agony. "Oh yeah. If I slacked off at all training in the off-season, I paid for it ten times over in the spring."

"That's because you didn't have an athletic trainer like me to take care of you," she grinned, patting his knee. "And why it took me so long to get here—a couple of my boys were in bad shape. So what did I miss?"

He filled her in on the stats of the game, noting with an inward smile that her hand remained in place on his knee. He leaned closer to her as he pointed out the players on the field, telling her a little about those he knew and providing play-by-play commentary for the game. She responded in kind, leaning against his shoulder and asking about different types of pitches in an effort to keep her mind from drifting away with the scent of his cologne.

"I can't tell what kind of pitch it is without a radar gun," she told him. "Like that one, there," she gestured to the ball flying into the catcher's mitt. "I can't tell if it's a fastball or a change-up because I don't know how fast it's going."

"That's because your eyes aren't accustomed to judging the speed of a softball," he smiled, his fingers encircling her wrist and lowering it out of the way. Rather than letting go, however, he slid his hand casually into hers and continued talking. "Besides, these guys play for fun—there's not much competition and not a lot of skill. So a fastball probably isn't that much different from a change-up…if the pitcher is even trying to make the distinction."

"Good point," she replied, listening to his explanation. His movement, however, did not go unnoticed. She studied his face, an amused look in her eyes and a teasing smile on her lips, trying to read his expression.

Eric squirmed a little, but met her gaze. "What?"

Shauna laughed and squeezed his hand. "Very smooth."

"You like that?" he grinned, feeling his cheeks becoming warm. "How 'bout this?" He released her hand and raised his arms, stretching them out with mock stiffness and bringing one to rest around her shoulders.

She laughed again, laying her head in the crook of his neck. "The technique is outdated," she responded, "but it was executed perfectly."

"Outdated?" he asked, his grin widening. "A good CSI has to keep current…I guess I'm going to have to study up."

"I guess you are," she seconded, making herself comfortable in his arms.

They held their cozy positions for the rest of the game, despite the heat of the day that still lingered at the field. The conversation remained light and easy, a nice distraction from the grind of their respective jobs. When the last pitch was thrown, the pair reluctantly rose from their places in the bleachers, stretching a bit and making their way to the parking lot hand in hand with a wave to Eric's friend.

"So what now?" Shauna asked, stopping beside her car.

He drew her to him, resting his free hand on her hip. "Well, we could go get ice cream…" He cringed as soon as the words were out of his mouth. "I'm sorry, that was a really lame suggestion. I'm usually more adventurous."

She smiled up at him. "There's plenty of time for adventure," she told him with a twinkle in her eyes. "But actually, ice cream sounds wonderful."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she confirmed. "A hot day like this practically begs you to eat ice cream. And…I have a lame suggestion of my own."

He watched her as she spoke, wondering what she had in mind. "What's that?"

"Can we go for a walk on a beach?" she smiled. "I've been in Miami for almost a month now, and I still haven't been to the beach."

"Well we can't have that," he grinned. "And I know a perfect place. Come on, I'll drive."

Half an hour later they were strolling down a moderately populated beach, eating ice cream cones, their fingers laced together, enjoying the light salt-air breeze blowing off the water.

"Is this what you had in mind?" he asked with a grin.

She smiled appreciatively back. "This is exactly what I had in mind."

"Good," he replied. "I wouldn't want to disappoint you."

She squeezed his hand in hers. "You haven't."

_I like the sound of that_, he thought. _It's like I have a clean slate with her._

He was drawn back from his musings by her voice. "You never did tell me why you came back to the club, you know," she said, taking a bite of her ice cream.

"I told you," he reminded her, "that I came back to apologize."

She nodded. "Yeah, but why did you change your mind about me? You could have apologized and left it at that, but you didn't. You introduced yourself and stayed to talk to me."

"Honestly?" She nodded again and he sighed. "I needed the distraction," he confessed. "I wanted to find another hookup, but I was trying not to do it."

"So I'm your twelve-step program?" she giggled.

"No," he chuckled, munching the last of his cone. "I figured that if I talked to you for a while I'd forget about those other girls."

She knew the answer to her next question, but she asked it anyway, curious about how he would respond. "Did it work?"

He stopped walking and turned to her, looking down into her sparkling eyes. "After five minutes I forgot about everyone else on the planet."

_Wow…good answer! _Her smile became a bit self-conscious and her eyelids fluttered as she shifted her gaze to the ice cream in her hand, unable to maintain eye contact.

He misread her reaction as one of disinterest. "That sounded like a line," he began. "I'm sorry…"

"Did you mean it?" she asked, the color rising in her cheeks as she forced herself to meet his eyes. "Was I really so captivating that you forgot the world existed?"

"Yes," he told her, his voice firm. "And worth every zombie moment at work the next day."

Her smile brightened. "I'm still sorry about that," she told him. "I shouldn't have kept you out so late."

"I could have gone home, too" he reminded her. "I stayed of my own free will. Besides, you have more than made it up to me today."

"You're having a good time, aren't you?" she observed lightly.

He moved closer to her, letting go of her hand and resting both of his on her hips. "Better than good," he said in a low voice.

"Good," she replied softly, her free hand finding his shoulder. "Me too."

Leaning down, he smiled happily. "Good," he mumbled, feeling her fingers caressing his neck, combing through his hair. His eyes closed slowly and his lips found hers in a gentle kiss, his hands traveling from her hips to the small of her back in an effort to bring her even closer to him. She responded, snaking her other arm around his neck as she kissed him back, melting into his embrace.

The kiss was broken abruptly when Eric jerked away, letting out a small yelp. "What was that?"

Shauna's eyes flew open. "What was what?"

He released her, running a hand over the back of his neck. "It was cold."

Her eyes went wide, suddenly knowing what had happened. _I guess I wasn't the only thing that was melting. _"I'm so sorry!" she grinned sheepishly.

He followed her gaze to the ice cream cone she held up in front of him, noting the sticky trail flowing down the side of it. Realization swept over him and he laughed. "You dripped on me!"

"I guess that means less kissing and more eating," she winked, licking the offending treat in a vain effort to stop the dripping.

He watched her a moment before interrupting her to kiss her warmly again, then shook his head. "It means less ice cream," he decided.

He read the delight in her expression and a pleased smile settled on his lips. Draping his arm around her, he held her close beside him and the pair resumed their walk down the beach, playfully struggling with the melting ice cream.


	4. Coming Undone

Eric pulled on his lab coat as he walked into the Layout Room, joining Calleigh as she examined the evidence from their latest case. "So what've we got?"

She sighed. "Not much. The vic's clothes are a dead end, and the only thing he had on him was a pre-paid cell phone."

"Well, we'll just have to look harder, then, won't we?" he smiled.

Calleigh turned to look at him, a smile of her own spreading across her face. "Look at you, Mr. Cheerful. Gonna solve this case with or without evidence, aren't you?"

He chuckled. "I'm going to do my best."

"And can you leap tall buildings in a single bound, too?" she grinned.

He laughed. "No…not yet."

"Not yet? Aren't we optimistic!"

He noticed something in her voice other than amiable teasing and cocked an eyebrow at her. "What? I can't be in a good mood?"

Her smile softened. "Of course you can," she replied quickly. "You just haven't been this happy in a while." She reached over and squeezed his arm affectionately. "It's good to see."

"I'm likin' it too," he returned with a small smile.

Calleigh turned back to the light table, her eyes twinkling when she spoke again. "So are you gonna tell me who she is?"

Eric studied her closely. "How do you know it's a girl?"

"Oh," she replied with an innocent shrug of her shoulders, "just a hunch."

He sighed with mock irritation. "You know me too well."

"Does that mean you're not going to tell me about her?"

"Not yet," he decided. "I've only known her for a week. But if anything important happens, you'll be the first to know."

She flashed another bright smile at him. "Deal." Grabbing a pair of tweezers, she continued, "Well, whoever she is, she's lucky to have you."

Her words stopped him in his tracks. _Have me? Does Shauna have me? Does she _think _she has me?_ He caught Calleigh staring at him and shook himself, pushing his thoughts to the back of his mind and picking up a magnifier. "Have you processed the shoes yet?"

She tried to understand his sudden transformation from sunny-man-in-a-new-romance to all-business-CSI, noting his effort to change the subject. _Was it something I said? _Deciding not to push the issue, though, she followed his lead. "No, I haven't done the shoes. They're over there…"

ooo

At the end of his shift, Eric climbed into his truck and pulled out of the parking lot quickly, not sure where he was going. The impulsive part of his brain begged him to pick a club—any club—and find a pretty girl to hook up with. It would feel good, his brain insisted, and he knew it would. At the same time, his more rational side tried to remind him of what happened the last time he did that: the lost badge used in a murder, the embarrassment of telling his coworkers what he'd been doing when he lost it, listening to Stetler talk about Speed like he was just _some_ _cop_ and not Eric's best friend.

_Do you really want to go through all that again?_

He frowned and answered his thought aloud. "It won't be like that this time if I'm careful."

_Careful? How can you be careful with a complete stranger?_

"My badge stays in the truck this time," he decided, "locked in the glove compartment. _And _we go to a more secluded place where there's no chance of an indecent exposure arrest."

_What about your health? Who knows what diseases you could get!_

His mind's eye flashed to the condoms in his wallet, knowing he was covered on that front, at least better than he was before.

But his rational side persisted. _What about Shauna?_

The question popped into his head before he could stop it and he found himself becoming defensive. "What _about_ Shauna? She's not into this, she said so herself."

_No, she's into getting to know people—like Sunday night at the club, Thursday at the softball game, the phone calls you traded this week._

"And now she thinks she we're in some kind of relationship," he mumbled. "I know she does! And I'm not looking for that right now…"

_Because you're afraid of losing someone else close to you?_ They were Stetler's words, echoed more kindly by Dr. Jamison at his first appointment, and they haunted him now. He knew deep down that, whether he liked it or not, there was some truth to them. But now, pulling into the parking lot at his favorite club and removing his badge from his belt, he didn't care. He shoved aside all the questions, all the insecurities, all the doubts, and made his way into the building.

The baseline of the song the DJ was spinning beat in Eric's chest and he found himself relaxing in the laid back atmosphere. Leaning against the bar and ordering a drink, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and scoped out the crowd, both visually and electronically. Almost immediately a message flashed on screen and he was off and running.

shakemy$maker: got plans 2nite?

6PakPlaya2Nite: not yet—u have something in mind?

shakemy$maker: u me & the prkg lot ;-)

6PakPlaya2Nite: sounds gr8!

ooo

The next morning Eric rose miserably with the insistent screeching of his alarm clock, showering quickly and calling a cab to take him back to the club's parking lot in search of his truck. His head pounded, his mouth tasted like cotton, his eyes squinting painfully as he moved through the harsh sunlight to his vehicle and climbed in. Before doing anything else, he clicked open the glove compartment and fished around, relief flooding through him when he found his badge exactly where he left it.

"Well that's one issue I won't have to deal with."

And if he had his badge, the chances of having to fess up to his colleagues dropped considerably, too. No Calleigh, no Stetler, no lab techs to have to explain himself to.

_Good._

He made it to the lab on time and, with the exception of Joseph commenting on how "you look like hell, Delko," he managed not to garner any unwanted attention. He even made a breakthrough on one of his tougher open cases, and was beginning to think his outing the previous evening wasn't going to have any ill effects on him.

Until his phone rang while he was eating dinner. Sitting across from him at the restaurant, Calleigh glanced at the screen sitting near his plate.

"Is that dispatch?"

He picked it up and checked the Caller ID, his heart sinking a little when he saw the name _Shauna_. "No," he shook his head, trying to keep his voice even for Calleigh's benefit. "It's not another callout."

"Thank goodness," she sighed. "I'm all for doing our job and getting justice for the victim, but I don't think we can handle another scene today."

"You're not kidding," he seconded, only a little less miserable then he had been that morning.

She watched him place the phone back on the table unanswered, making no move to even listen to the message left when his voicemail tone sounded. "Not gonna check it, huh?" she asked nonchalantly.

"Nope."

"So it must not be important," Calleigh continued.

Eric raised an eyebrow at her in a "don't meddle" expression and shook his head. "Nope," he repeated.

Versions of the scene cropped up again and again over the next several days, with Eric's phone ringing and being subsequently ignored when Shauna's name flashed on screen. Part of him wanted to talk to her—he had really enjoyed the time he'd spent with her—but part of him wanted to stay as far away from her as possible. He couldn't quite pinpoint why, just that he felt "bad", particularly after finally listening to her messages.

"_Hi Eric, it's Shauna again. I'm, um, I'm starting to wonder what's going on here. I thought we had a good time together, but, uh…maybe not. If that's why you're not calling me back, it's okay—just leave me a message, or text me, or…or send me a smoke signal, I don't care. I just need to know so I don't…don't worry about you so much. I just want to know that you're okay. Okay?"_

At his next appointment with Dr. Jamison, he tried to explain.

"I don't know what it is," he told the doctor. "I guess I just don't want to hurt her."

"Based on her phone message, it sounds like she's already hurt," she observed. "And worried about you, too. By not getting in touch with her, you might be causing her more pain instead of less."

Eric mulled that information over for a moment. _Out of all the girls I've dated, none of them have ever been hurt when I didn't call back…_

_That I know of._

The thought hit him like a bolt of lightning. "The girls I've been with before have all just sort of let me go," he realized aloud. "When I don't call back, they might try once or twice to get a hold of me, but then they don't worry about it anymore."

"But Shauna told you she's worried," she reminded him.

He nodded in response. "Like my friends at work," he noted. "They were worried about me, too."

"And you pushed them away…your fear of losing those close to you got the better of you then."

"Now, too?" he wondered.

The doctor nodded her head. "It seems that way, yes."

He heaved a frustrated sigh. "Why can't I just be normal?"

"The death of a close friend is no small thing," she replied, leaning forward in her chair and resting her elbows on her knees. "I know you know that, but the clichés are true: you have to take baby steps, take it one day at a time. It's good that you were able to connect with Shauna, but then you reverted back to your old behavior."

"Yeah, the behavior that I don't want to have," he frowned. "I tried—I _really_ tried—not to go out because I knew what would happen. But the more I thought about it, the more I rationalized it and tried to make it okay. And when I was with that girl…I could forget all my problems and just have a good time."

"Until your problems found you again afterward," she added.

He sighed again, this time with more regret than frustration. "I know." His head fell into his hands and he was silent a moment. When he lifted his eyes back to the doctor's, he had one question for her. "So what do I do?"

"Short term? Like I said, take things one day at a time, one hour at a time if you have to. You're strong, Eric. That's how you've dealt with Tim's death up until now on your own, and that strength will get you through this. But you can't run from your problems or your feelings anymore."

"What about Shauna?" he asked softly.

Dr. Jamison met his gaze, her voice firm but sympathetic. "That's your decision. You can keep ignoring her calls and never see her again, which would certainly take care of that problem—eventually she'll just stop calling. Or you could face her and give her some kind of explanation. Tell her as much or as little as you think is appropriate, but tell her the truth."

"That's what you think I should do," he responded, reading her facial expression. "You think I should face her."

"It would certainly help both in your healing process and her general state of mind. But like I said," she continued, "it's your decision."

Walking out of the office, Eric's mind whirled through the possibilities. _What am I going to do?_


	5. Baby I Lied

It took him three more days to get up the nerve to talk to Shauna. Even after he had made the decision, it was several hours before he even knew how to start the conversation. Then, just as he picked up the phone to call, it rang in his hand.

_Shauna_, read the Caller ID display.

"Well, here we go." He pushed the appropriate button and placed the phone against his ear. "Delko."

"Eric!" she replied, the relief evident in her voice. "Are you okay?"

_She's really concerned_. "I guess that depends on how you define 'okay'," he hedged. "Physically, yeah, I'm fine. I've just, uh…um…"

"…been having a bad week?" she supplied.

"Yeah, you could say that."

Her voice was soft when she responded. "Anything I can do?"

_You made your decision, now stick to it._ "Actually, yeah," he told her. "I think we need to talk, but not over the phone. Can you meet me somewhere?"

She checked her watch and estimated the length of time it would take her to finish up with the last football player on her treatment table. "It'll be about an hour before I can get out of work," she gauged, her voice noticeably flatter.

"How about someplace on campus, then?" he asked. "I'll come to you."

_Someplace where we can have some privacy_, she thought, going over the campus terrain in her mind. "There's Lake Osceola," she suggested.

"Perfect," he agreed. "Meet me by the baseball field?"

"You got it."

She hung up the phone and grabbed the supplies she needed for her patient, wondering what Eric wanted to say to her. _Never in the history of the English language has anything good ever followed the words "we need to talk". And he won't do it over the phone…after not calling me for almost a week. It's not going to be good._

ooo

He was waiting for her on the bank of the small lake when she approached, his eyes trained out on the water as though he was deep in thought. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him, and she realized just how much she had grown to care about him in such a short amount of time.

_I really do hope he's okay,_ she thought, pausing a moment to watch him. _And I hope he's not about to break my heart._

Taking in a deep breath, she resumed her walk toward him. "Hey Eric."

He turned and smiled when he saw her, but noted that she didn't touch him at all when she halted beside him. _She was so open with her affection for me before. But then again, I'd be unhappy in her shoes, too._ Shaking his head a little to clear it, he inhaled slowly and decided to jump right in. "I owe you an apology."

"Yeah, you do," she replied simply. "This time, you do."

"I screwed up, I know," he acknowledged, turning with her to walk along the shoreline.

"Why didn't you call me back?" she asked, her voice effectively concealing her emotions.

He sighed. "Well, there's the short answer, then there's the long, involved answer," he told her. "Which do you want?"

"Both."

"Alright," he acquiesced. "The short answer is I didn't call you back because I went out to a club last week..." He took in another breath and exhaled slowly as he continued, "And hooked up with another girl."

"Hooked up?" she asked quietly. "As in—"

"—a girl I didn't know, in the parking lot," he finished for her, the embarrassment clear in his downcast eyes.

Shauna let his words sink in. "Oh."

She tried to brush it off, he could see, but her fallen face betrayed the hurt she felt, and the "bad" feeling Eric had tried to describe to Dr. Jamison manifested itself in the pit of his stomach. "I wasn't thinking about you when I did it," he stumbled on.

"Obviously."

"No…I wasn't thinking about _anything_," he clarified, shifting his gaze back to her. "Not anything that made any sense, anyway. All I could think of was how much better I would feel after I'd been with someone…"

She frowned, meeting his eyes. "I guess I wasn't enough of a twelve-step program for you, then."

"No, no, no, this has nothing to do with you, Shauna," he insisted. "This is all me."

"You've made that pretty clear," she returned coolly.

He pressed his lips together, the "bad" feeling in his stomach growing. "That isn't what I meant," he tried again. "I can't—I don't know how to explain it, but I never meant to hurt you."

She shook her head. "No, it's okay. We never made any promises to each other. You don't owe me anything."

"But you're upset…"

"That's my own fault," she told him. "I got excited when I met you, got my hopes up." Her eyes drifted out over the water. "It just didn't work out."

The pain in her voice at that moment hit him with an intensity he'd never felt before from another person, and he realized just how badly he had hurt her, however unintentionally. He stopped walking and reached out for her, clasping her hand in his. "This is not your fault, it's mine," he stated firmly. "We had a great time at the club, and I really, _really_ liked the softball game and the beach…talking to you on the phone. I…I had such a good time that I think I freaked out…thought we were getting too close…"

She studied him as he spoke, watched him thrash out words for her that he needed to hear himself, and decided not to interrupt. _I think he needs to give a full explanation as much as I need to hear it._

"I've never been Mr. Commitment," he persisted. "I'm not the kind of guy that dates just one girl at a time—my friends will all tell you that. But this toothing thing, that's not me either, and they'll tell you that, too. I don't know what's wrong with me…it's like I'm possessed by someone else who doesn't give a damn about anyone."

"You told me at the club that you recently lost a friend," she said, her anger beginning to dissipate as she put the pieces together.

He nodded mutely.

"And this is related to that."

He nodded again, gesturing with his free hand. "This, the toothing, the irritability, the pulling away from people I'm close to, the closing myself off from any sort of bond with another person…yeah. I didn't think so at first—I didn't even know I was doing most of it—but now I'm pretty sure it does."

"And that's why you went looking for a woman," she replied. "Your body, your mind starts to crave contact—"

"—but I was too scared and…and too _sad_ to go to my friends," he finished, noting that she hadn't pulled her hand from his grasp. "And that includes you. We were getting close, and it was great, but then—"

"—you freaked out," she repeated his phrase, nodding in understanding.

He turned to her and took her other hand, squeezing both of them meaningfully. "I never, _ever_, meant to hurt you," he maintained. "I thought that if I didn't return your calls you'd just forget about me, and then you wouldn't have to find out what I did, or deal with what I've turned into."

"You figured I'd fade into the sunset," she concurred, "and just write you off as a jerk."

His eyes shifted to a spot over her shoulder. "I thought it would be easier that way."

"Was it?"

Her question surprised him. "No," he admitted. "I feel awful. I treated you like you were some self-absorbed club girl that I could just ignore, when you're so much more than that. I…I let you down."

She stepped closer to him, squeezing his hands affectionately in return. "You did let me down when you didn't call me back—I thought you were different from other guys when we met. Then I started to think that I read you all wrong, that you were just looking for a quick good time after all. But this—talking out here by the lake—this tells me I was right the first time."

"You're not angry with me?"

She sighed and waited for his eyes to find hers. "I _am_ angry," she told him. "I'm still angry that you didn't call me back, because that hurt and I was really worried about you. But it makes sense to me now," she added. "I understand why you did it. And I believe you when you say you didn't mean to hurt me."

"Think you can forgive me?" he asked quietly.

She nodded, her mouth curving into a small smile. "Yes." She released one of his hands and reached up to stroke his cheek. "I want you to remember something, too," she requested gently.

"What?"

Her expression softened as her fingertips skimmed across his skin. "That you can talk to me." She lowered her hand and clasped his again, squeezing one more time to emphasize her words. "I know we haven't known each other that long, but if you need someone to talk to you can call me…even in the middle of the night. You don't have to go through this alone."

_A lot of people have told me that. _He looked down into her blue eyes, searching them for sincerity. What he saw was an unmistakable concern and affection, coupled with an authenticity he had found in few people in his life. _Just like Speed. _His reply carried that same authenticity in return. "Thanks. I, uh…I might take you up on that."

She slipped her arms around his neck and drew him close in a tender embrace. "Anything I can do to help," she murmured in his ear. "Because I've gotten to be pretty fond of you, you know."

Sliding his arms around her in response, he flew through a range of emotions: relief that she had forgiven him, amazement that she understood him and what he was going through, happiness that she felt about him the way he felt about her, absolute terror that he would hurt her in some way again, strong enough to give their relationship everything he had, and utter contentment at being in her arms. He buried his face in her shoulder and held her tighter, praying he wouldn't let her down again. "I'm pretty fond of you, too."


	6. Right Here

Eric's cell phone rang from his belt as he sped the Hummer along through the sunlit streets of downtown Miami.

"Who's that?" Ryan Wolfe asked from the passenger seat.

Eric shot an annoyed look at his colleague. "I don't know, Wolfe. Why don't you let me answer it?" He pulled the phone off his belt and glanced at the Caller ID. _Shauna. _He brightened a little when he answered. "Hey."

"Hey back," she smiled on the other end of the line. "You busy?"

"Actually, yeah," he replied regretfully. "I'm on my way to a scene. Can I call you back later?"

"Promise?"

His lips curved upward slightly at the hopefulness in her voice. "Yeah, I promise."

"Okay, I'll talk to you later then."

"Bye." He hung up and dropped the phone into the cup holder, returning to the silence that had pervaded the SUV before the call.

Ryan waited several minutes to see if his partner for the day would speak. When he didn't, the younger CSI figured he'd try to break the ice. "So who was that?"

"None of your business," Eric snapped.

"So, not related to the case then?" Ryan tried again.

Eric glared at him for along moment before training his eyes back on the road. "You were sitting right there listening. Did you hear anything about the case?"

Ryan replied carefully. "No."

"Then why are you asking me?"

Eric's tone was harsh, as it usually was with Ryan, and the junior CSI sighed. "I was just trying to make conversation," he said his voice carrying a defensive note. Shifting in his seat, he frowned and sighed again. "You know, I've been in the lab for seven months now, and you still treat me like I'm a total amateur."

Pulling up to the scene and turning off the Hummer, Eric rolled his eyes. "Maybe that's because you act like one."

The rest of the day played out along similar lines, with Ryan taking hit after hit of Eric's resentment and irritation. When they parted company at the end of the day, Ryan managed to get in a dig of his own.

"I bet whoever it is that called this afternoon has a lot of patience," he growled. "Because I don't know how else anyone would put up with you."

Eric glared at Ryan's back as he stalked out of the locker room and down to the parking lot. Once securely locked in his truck, he pulled out his phone and hit the speed dial number he'd reserved for Shauna, relaxing a bit when she answered.

"Hello?"

"Hey beautiful," he smiled.

"Eric." Sitting in her living room with her dog sprawled out at her feet, Shauna smiled in return. "How was your day?"

He paused before answering. "Long," he replied slowly.

"Bad case?"

He could hear the sympathy in her words and a smaller version of his smile returned. "No worse than usual," he told her. "I just got stuck with Wolfe all day, that's all."

She nodded understandingly. "And I know what you think of him."

Eric went on to explain how annoying Ryan had been, how he acted like a know-it-all one minute, then a green rookie the next. The aggravation built in his voice as he rambled on about Ryan taking credit for work he hadn't done, about his relationship with that smarmy reporter and his lust for air time. He ended his little rant with a large sigh, proclaiming, "I just don't like the guy."

Shauna let him vent, adding a thought here or there, lending her commiseration which he so clearly needed. But by the time he finished, an idea popped into her mind. "Are you sure it's actually Ryan that you have a problem with?"

"Of course it's him," Eric returned. "Who else has been making my life miserable for the last seven months?"

"But are you sure it's _Ryan_?" she repeated. "Or would you feel the same way about anyone else in his position?"

He was quiet for several moments, mulling that over, following her train of thought. "You think I have a problem with him because he took Speedle's spot," he concluded.

"I think it's a possibility," she responded gently. "I don't doubt that the guy is obnoxious. But I wonder if he might seem more obnoxious—"

"—because he's not Tim," he finished softly. He paused again before continuing. "I miss him, y'know? I just…I just keep waiting for him to walk into the lab and give me a hard time about, well, about anything. He'd have had a field day with you."

She heard him chuckle a little and found herself smiling along with him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah—the fact that we've known each other for a month now and we're still speaking? Or, better, that we talk to each other all the time. He would have never let me hear the end of it. Like this one time…"

ooo

A couple of weeks later, Shauna was on her way to work when her cell phone rang. Checking the Caller ID, she noted that there was no name, but that the number was an MDPD extension.

Flipping it open, she expected Eric's voice. "Hey babe."

"Oh, um, Shauna Reece?" a female voice replied.

She cleared her throat in embarrassment. "Uh, yes, this is Shauna Reece. Who is this?"

"My name is Calleigh Duquense," the woman responded. "I work with Eric Delko at the Crime Lab."

Recognition hit Shauna's brain. "Oh, yeah, the bullet girl. Eric's told me a lot about you."

"Must be all work related if you're calling me 'bullet girl'," she returned.

Mortified a second time, Shauna quickly apologized. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean any disrespect. It's just…you know how Eric is, how he talks about people. Heaven knows what he calls me when I'm not around…"

"It's okay," Calleigh told her, her smile showing through in her voice. "There's nothing wrong with being known for being good at your job, right…trainer girl?"

Shauna laughed. "Absolutely. So what can I do for you?"

Calleigh became serious again. "Actually, it's what you might be able to do for Eric. He stayed late last night and worked a full shift after his regular one, and he's still here in the middle of his third in a row. He's refusing to go home and I'm worried about him."

"Why won't he go home?" Shauna asked, concerned.

Calleigh shook her head on the other end of the line. "I don't know, he won't tell me. I managed to talk him into taking a break—walked him into the break room and got him something to eat. He's sitting on the couch there now, watching a little TV."

Shauna was all business now. "What can I do?"

"I was hoping maybe you could talk him into going home," Calleigh explained. "The way he talks about you, I get the feeling you two are pretty close, and maybe he'll listen to you."

"Maybe," Shauna conceded. "But I don't know. I don't have to tell you how stubborn he can be—kudos to you for getting him to take a break." She glanced at the clock on the console of her car, practically hearing the anger in her supervisor's voice when she called to tell him she wasn't coming in. "I'll definitely try, though. I can be there in twenty minutes…can you keep an eye on him 'til then?"

"Yeah," Calleigh replied softly. "I'll sit with him."

When Shauna arrived at the lab, a uniformed police officer escorted her to the break room where Calleigh spotted her and met her at the door.

"How is he?"

"He's calm, but he's still refusing to go home," Calleigh reported. "And he's too exhausted to work."

Shauna nodded. "Okay." Moving into the room, she seated herself next to Eric on the couch and clasped his hand. "Hey."

"Hey beautiful," he smiled weakly. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you," she smiled.

"To see _me_?"

She noted the surprise in his words. "Yeah," she affirmed. "I hear you've had a long day, and I thought you might need a ride home."

He shook his head. "I'm not going home."

"How come?" He shook his head again, refusing to answer, but she persisted. "Hey," she tried again, a soothing quality in her voice, "I'm worried about you, and so's Calleigh. You're a hard worker and all, but three shifts in a row? It's too much." She scooted closer to him and rested her chin on his shoulder. "Will you tell me why you won't go home?"

He inspected the break room searching for anyone within earshot, but Calleigh was guarding the door allowing no one else inside. Satisfied that he and Shauna were alone, he bowed his head. "My friends are here," he practically whispered. "If I go home, I'm all by myself."

"You don't have to be," she whispered back. "I'll keep you company."

"Don't you have to go to work?"

It was her turn to shake her head gently. "I called in."

"For me?" The surprise was back in his voice.

"Yep. You've got me as long as you want me," she smiled.

He bent his head toward her, nuzzling her cheek tenderly. "My twelve-step program," he murmured with appreciation. "Always there when I need you."

ooo

Later that month, Shauna's phone rang again as she lay in bed watching television through her half-closed eyes. When she saw Eric's name on the Caller ID, she immediately became concerned.

"Hey babe," she answered the phone, propping herself up on one elbow.

On the other end of the line, he smiled. "I didn't wake you up did I?"

"Nah, I'm awake," she assured him. "What's up?"

"I, uh, I had a good day today," he told her. "Not great, but good. And I just…wanted to talk to you."

She rolled onto her back, relieved and so happy for him. "You know you always can."

Eric's smile softened, hearing her unspoken thought in her voice. _I'm so lucky to have found you._

After a moment, Shauna broke the sentimental silence, her smile growing in the darkness. "So tell me about this good day…"


	7. Are You Gonna Be My Girl?

"What are you doing Saturday night?" Eric asked, grinning into the phone from his perch on a stool in the Print Lab.

On the other end of the line, Shauna smiled broadly. "Well, my apartment needs cleaning," she teased, "and my poor dog needs a bath in the worst way."

"That's too bad," he played along, "because I have Sunday off this weekend and I was thinking we might go out on a real date Saturday."

She laughed lightly. "Not softball and ice cream? Or a movie on the couch?"

"Not this time," he told her. "I'm thinking dinner at a nice restaurant, maybe some dancing afterwards, late night dessert…"

"Sounds wonderful," she agreed.

"Good," he said softly. "I haven't exactly been easy to be around the last few weeks, and I want to make it up to you."

His words were true, she knew. He had been a mess of ups and downs over the previous month, celebrating some success at work one day and close to tears the next, finally allowing himself to deal with the emotions he'd been bottling up. It had more or less put any development of their relationship on hold, but they had managed to stick together through it all.

And now he wanted to push forward. "There's nothing to make up for," she corrected gently. "But I'm not going to say no to a night out with you."

"So Francis will have to get his bath another night?"

She laughed again, nodding into the phone. "Francis will have to get his bath another night. Maybe if he's good, I'll bring him home a doggie bag."

"What do I get if I'm good?"

Shauna could practically see the twinkle in his brown eyes from her where she sat on the couch in her living room. "You'll just have to wait and see," she answered slyly.

"Pick you up at seven?"

"I'll be ready."

ooo

She didn't hear the knock on her door, but her spotted Great Dane did. His booming bark echoed through the apartment as he rushed to the door, anxiously waiting to find out who was on the other side. Shauna trailed behind the big dog, fastening an earring as she moved.

"Alright Frankie, that's enough," she called. He continued to bark, of course, eyes riveted to the door in full protect mode. Earring in place, she glanced through the peephole, her lips curving into a smile at the sight of Eric in a slate gray suit, complete with a shirt whose color could only be described as "tangerine". The expression he wore, though, was one tinged with a bit of bewilderment.

_The dog's deep bark surprised him. _Smiling brightly, she ordered Francis to sit ten paces away and swung open the door. "Hey!"

The big Dane lunged forward, more to inspect Eric than anything else, but Shauna held up a hand halting the big dog in his tracks. "Hey," her date answered, entering the apartment with his eyes locked on the eager dog. "This must be Francis."

"Yep, this is my baby," she replied. Then, to the dog, "Now you be good, Frankie, you got it?" She gave him the all clear signal and he went straight for Eric again, more politely this time, nose wiggling fervently. "You okay with big dogs?"

"Yeah," Eric responded, relaxing a bit. "As long as they know they're not supposed to eat me."

"Frankie's all talk," Shauna assured him, sizing up the dog's reaction to their guest with satisfaction. "Except this one time I had him out for a walk and a guy decided to hassle me. Guy's lucky I lift weights or I wouldn't have been able to keep Frankie off him."

"He was protecting you," Eric smiled. "I can relate to that."

She chuckled. "So you two are gonna get along, then?"

Francis had begun wagging his tail, having assessed Eric and found him friendly, particularly when the CSI reach out and scratched the dog's ears. "Yeah, we're going to get along just fine."

"Good—I'll be right back." She flashed him another smile and disappeared down the hallway into her bedroom. "Make yourself comfortable," she called. "Francis doesn't shed that much, and I've got a lint roller just in case."

Eric wandered into the living room and dropped down onto the couch, followed closely by the Great Dane who continued to watch and sniff at him, his tail wagging excitedly. "At least he doesn't jump," Eric commented toward the hallway.

She reappeared carrying a pair of shoes the same shade of "tangerine" as his shirt and the floral pattern on her white dress, sitting beside him on the couch. "He did when he was a puppy," she explained, "but 'stay down' was the second thing I taught him, right after 'go to the door when you need to go outside'. I knew I couldn't have a full-grown Great Dane jumping on people when he got bigger."

Eric was still looking at the dog as he paced around the living room, trying to figure out what to do with the newcomer. "That's good thinking."

"I have my moments." She grinned again and slid a hand over his arm. "You ready?"

"Absolutely." He followed her to the door, slipping out while she held Francis back, and slid his hand into place on the small of her back when she joined him for the walk to his truck.

The ride to the restaurant was spent in light conversation, Eric's hand affectionately clasping Shauna's as they drove. When they arrived, he helped her out of the truck and wrapped an arm around her waist as he escorted her to the door.

Her eyes went wide when they entered the lobby. "Wow! Look at this place," she whispered, leaning close to his ear.

"You like it?" he chuckled.

"It's gorgeous," she smiled. "If the food is half as good as the décor…"

His grin softened and he pressed his lips to hair. "Shall we?" They trailed behind the host to their table, sitting close to each other, hands joining again as they looked over the menus. "You look beautiful," he told her gently when they were alone again.

"You look pretty good yourself," she commented brightly, reaching over and thumbing his lapel with her free hand. "'Tangerine' works for you."

That earned her a laugh and a squeeze of her fingers. "I try."

The easy tone of their conversation carried over from the truck through dinner, the intimacy they'd developed showing plainly in their facial expressions, their words, their body language. A second feeling hovered in the background, though, one that both felt but that neither could quite identify. It grew slightly stronger as dinner went on, developing into something almost tangible by the time they reached the dance club.

_It's awkwardness_, Shauna realized, watching Eric pay the cover charge. _Not awkwardness at being together…awkwardness at being _romantic_ together._

She smiled warmly when he glanced back at her, her mind whirring as they salsa'd, two-stepped, merengue'd, and swing danced through the night. But when the music slowed and Eric pulled her close, her suspicions were confirmed. He kissed her hair, her cheek, cradling her hand against his chest as he wound an arm around her waist. The gestures were sincere, she could tell, and so tender, but strange nonetheless.

He drew back very slightly so he could look into her eyes. "Having a good time?"

"Yes," she answered truthfully.

"Good," he replied leaning in and brushing his lips over hers. "You deserve it."

She smiled a small smile. "So do you."

His lips found hers again, gently at first before he slowly deepened the kiss. As he did so, he felt not only her affection for him, but also the awkwardness Shauna had identified between them earlier in the evening. _Why does if feel odd to kiss her? It never did before…_

ooo

He walked her to her door in the wee hours of the morning, his fingers laced through hers, standing protectively close to her while she hunted for her key. Finding it, she turned to him and smiled.

"Wanna come in?"

The strangeness of their kiss still in the back of his mind, he shook his head. "I don't think so…it's late…"

She read the discomfort in his face. "Eric, what's wrong?"

He pressed his lips together and glanced down at their clasped hands. When he met her eyes again, he was frowning. "Did anything seem…odd to you tonight?"

"Odd?"

"Between us," he clarified.

Understanding dawned over her face and she nodded. "Why don't we talk inside?"

This time he didn't protest, allowing her to lead him through the entryway and into the living room, petting and calming Francis as she moved. Plopping down on the couch and shooing the dog away, she slipped off her high-heels and rubbed her feet, gesturing for Eric to sit beside her. After being rebuffed several times and realizing he wasn't going to get any attention, Francis stalked haughtily into the bedroom, leaving the pair alone.

"You noticed it too?" Shauna asked when Eric was comfortable.

"Too? You mean you—"

She nodded. "—felt it, yeah. Something was—"

"—not quite right," he finished. "It was almost—"

"—awkward," she supplied, nodding again. "I mean, I meant it when I said I had a good time. I really did enjoy tonight, Eric."

He smiled affectionately. "I know you did. I did, too…I had a lot of fun. But when I kissed you…" He let his voice trail off a moment before completing his thought. "It was like kissing one of my sisters."

That made her laugh. "One of your sisters?" she grinned.

"Well, not exactly…"

"I know," she smiled, patting his knee. "It was good—you're a good kisser, y'know—but it wasn't like it used to be. It was more…friendly, I think."

Her choice of words triggered an answer in his mind. "The last handful of weeks that's what we've been," he explained, understanding now. "We've both been so focused on my state of mind that we sort of put all things romantic on hold because of how I freaked out before."

"But not our friendship," she added, seeing where he was going. "We still touched each other, held hands, cuddled up together."

"Still talked to each other, every day," he continued, "and spent time together. It was all just platonic."

"And we didn't even realize it," she chuckled, shaking her head a little in amazement. "So what do we do now?"

He picked her hand up off his knee and held it in his own. "I think the decision has already been made, actually," he told her. "We're apparently not meant to be lovers."

"But we make good friends, don't we?" she smiled, squeezing his fingers.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, smiling in return as she slid closer and relaxed against him. "Yeah, we do."

"So we go with what works?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

He nuzzled her cheek and nodded in response. "We go with what works."


	8. Come a Little Bit Closer

Eric's phone rang in his pocket toward the end of the day, snapping him out of the contemplative haze he'd lapsed into waiting for DNA test results. "Delko," he answered without looking at the Caller ID.

"Hey handsome."

He recognized the voice instantly and smiled. "Hey Shauna. You on your way?"

"That's why I'm calling," she explained. "I'm gonna be a little bit later than I thought. One of our guys got hurt pretty badly at practice today, and I'm at the hospital with him."

"That's terrible!"

"He'll be okay," she assured him. "The doctors are taking good care of him, and the head trainer and his coach are on their way, but I can't leave until they get here."

"No problem," he replied understandingly. "Why don't you swing by the lab here and pick me up when you're done? We'll have to make a stop on the way out, but I've got some paperwork to catch up on, and I can do that while I wait for you."

"Sounds like a good plan," she smiled. "I'll even leave Frankie in the truck when I come inside."

That earned her a chuckle. "Horatio will appreciate that."

They said their good-byes and Eric set up shop in one of the unused conference rooms, free of distractions as long as he didn't gaze too long through the heavy glass into the other parts of the lab. He dropped his stack of files onto the table and parked himself in a chair, pen in hand, sighing heavily. Slowly slogging through the paperwork, he added page and case numbers to official reports, and filled in other minor details that were necessary for a court appearance. Halfway through his stack a uniformed officer appeared at the door.

"Ready for a break?" she asked, smiling brightly.

"She here?"

The officer nodded. "Waiting for you at reception."

His lips formed his own pleased smile in response. "Great," he said, rising from his chair and stretching his stiff limbs.

"I told her you'd be ready in a second."

"Thanks Paula," he called as she disappeared around a corner, waiving her acknowledgement. Gathering his files and depositing them in their proper place, he made his way to the lobby where Shauna was perched on the edge of one of the bank of chairs against the wall. "I hear there's a beautiful woman waiting for me out here," he called as he approached, grinning.

She rose, a sly smirk spreading across her face. "Well she must've left, so you're stuck with me."

He kissed her forehead affectionately, sliding a hand over her shoulder. "There's a woman more beautiful than you?"

She brushed off the compliment, but couldn't keep the pleasure out of her expression. "Ready?"

Eric grinned. "Oh yeah, I've been looking forward to this all day."

Shauna led him to her truck and waiting dog. "Frankie's been excited all day, too," she told him as they walked. "It's like he knows where we're taking him."

"He's a smart dog," Eric grinned. "He probably does."

ooo

They arrived at the beach an hour and forty-five minutes later after a stop at Eric's parent's home, frustrated with traffic and happy to be out of Shauna's truck. Frankie bounced out of the back seat wagging his tail, tongue hanging out of his mouth as he danced around Eric, his exuberance only briefly tempered when Shauna hooked the leash to his collar.

"The law's the law, Frankie-boy," she told him apologetically. "And the law says you have to be leashed." When they started moving, though, the dog quickly took the lead, his excitement returning despite the restraint.

"I don't think he minds too much," Eric chuckled, watching the dog prance up the sidewalk and onto the sand.

Shauna smothered a laugh when a couple spotted the big Dane and walked a wide circle around him. "He just wants to run and play," she confirmed. "Leashed or not."

Eric jogged out to the end of the tether and scratched Frankie's back and ears, egging the canine on when he attempted to wrestle with his human playmate. "C'mon Frankie!" he called, grinning broadly and making growling noises. "You wanna play? Then let's go!"

Shauna dissolved into giggles, trying vainly to keep the leash from twisting around both man and dog as the two roughhoused, ignoring annoyed looks from several of the other beachgoers. Eric tired first, giving up long before Frankie was ready and sprawling out on the sand, much to the animal's dismay. He nosed Eric, licking his face and hands, pointedly dodging Shauna's attempts to detangle him and focusing instead on rousing the CSI for another match.

"I surrender!" Eric laughed, throwing his arms up in the air. The gesture drew Frankie's attention, and the spotted dog lunged.

Fortunately Shauna caught him before he could land on an unprepared Eric. "Francis!" she called sharply, shifting the Great Dane's focus from playtime to good behavior. He halted pre-leap and dropped his haunches to the ground in a sit position, swinging his round brown eyes toward his mistress for approval. "Good boy," she confirmed, rewarding him with a pat. "You can't jump on people without warning them, you know." A smile crept over her face when she continued, "And you can't flatten Eric before we open up that basket his mother put together for us."

Frankie's tail wagged cheerfully as Eric pealed himself off the beach. "Let's do that now," he decided. "I'm starving."

"After going ten rounds with Joe Louis, here, I bet you are," she smirked. Frankie fell into step beside them and they made their way back to the truck to pick up the basket in question before heading back out onto the sand. The big canine sniffed inquisitively, his ears pricking up as he recognized the smell of something familiar. "I think he knows what it is."

"He probably has a good idea," Eric nodded. "Let's find a nice place to sit and spread out, and then he'll see what's in here."

"Whether he gets to eat any of it or not, we'll see," Shauna smirked at her pet. "The last thing we need is a huge dog throwing up all over the place."

Frankie bounced around them in anticipation as the pair chose a spot to spread a blanket and pop open the picnic basket. "You think my mother's cooking is going to make him sick?" Eric asked with mock annoyance. "I'll have you know—"

She cut him off with another smirk, this one less jovial. "I'll have _you_ know that the cook has very little to do with it. Some of the most delicious food in the world can kill a dog," she reminded him.

The canine in question knew the rules about mealtime, too, and parked himself on the sand at the edge of the blanket, far enough away to keep him from getting in trouble but close enough to try to use his sad-hungry-puppy face to score a treat. Eric threw him a sidelong glance, then returned his attention back to Shauna. "True. And we wouldn't want anything to happen to my man over here," he smiled, reaching over to scratch Frankie's ears.

"I can't imagine not having him around," she commented in return. "I've had him since he was eight weeks old. I just…don't know what I'd do without him."

Eric was silent for several long moments, opening up containers and arranging items on the blanket without making eye contact. "I know how that feels," he finally answered quietly.

Shauna's gaze fell on his face, her expression softening noticeably. "Yeah, you do."

A small smile crept across her companion's face as he lifted his dark eyes to her blue ones. "You know, Speed would have liked you."

"You think so?" she asked, handing him a plate.

He noted the genuine interest in her voice and continued. "Absolutely. You're smart, you're beautiful, you're devoted to your friends and family. You've got a good sense of humor, too—he would have picked up on that right away. Five minutes after meeting him, the two of you would have been tag-teaming me like you'd known each other for years."

"He liked to tease, huh?" she asked, smiling gently.

Eric chuckled lightly. "He was merciless sometimes. He'd rag on me about the women I dated, about the way I did my job. If he were here he'd ask you how you manage to put up with me."

"Perhaps the Eric I know is a little different than the one he knew," she offered delicately.

"More mature, you mean?" When she nodded, he did too. "I think that was his goal, to try to get me to grow up. On the outside Speed was the kind of guy that didn't let anything get to him, didn't take anything too seriously. He always seemed…very cool."

"James Dean," she supplied lightly.

Eric grinned. "Right down to the badass bike. But he never did anything without a reason. And he was dedicated to the Lab—that's why he was always on me at work. If we screwed something up in collecting or processing evidence it meant that someone who had committed a crime, who had _hurt_ people, could go free. That was just not an option as far as Tim was concerned."

"And he tried to impress that upon you, too," she added.

"Yeah, he definitely tried." He paused a moment, attempting to put his thoughts in an order that made sense. "I think…I think he just wanted to see me do something with my life, y'know? Not waste it away partying all the time, but do something meaningful."

Shauna reached over and covered his hand with hers, squeezing affectionately. "I'm sure he'd be proud of you now."

"Not of the way I acted after the funeral," Eric disagreed with a grimace. "He wasn't exactly into settling down himself, but a string of one-night stands that don't even qualify as one-night stands would have pissed him off…especially when I lost my badge to one of them. He'd have said his piece and let me make my own mistakes with those girls, but when my badge was used to commit a crime?"

"Unacceptable," she finished for him. "You've come a long way since then, though. For one thing, you're sitting here with me—who you've treated like gold," she reminded him with a wide smile, "and this beautiful picnic dinner."

A low whine from the edge of the blanket broke the mood and reminded them that they were not the only two at this gathering. Frankie lay attentively in the sand, trying hard to be patient amid the wonderful smells emanating from the various containers set out, eliciting a laugh from both of his human companions.

Eric grabbed a serving spoon and began dishing out food onto their plates, sneaking the Great Dane a few chunks of cold chicken when Shauna wasn't looking. "My mother is the best cook in the world, and I'm not just saying that because she's my mother," he assured her.

"Your mother looked horrified when I suggested potato salad was an acceptable meal by itself," Shauna returned, handing him a napkin and fork.

"But she liked you."

She pressed her lips together in though. "You sure? She seemed kind of disappointed to me."

He handed her soda can with a laugh. "She's only disappointed because we're not together. She was actually excited that I brought you by."

"How many other women have you brought home?" Shauna asked curiously, pretending not to notice another scrap of chicken being spirited over to her dog.

"Ever?" Eric shoveled a forkful of food into his mouth and thought carefully before answering. "Three," he concluded. "And one of them was Calleigh."

That earned him a giggle. "That explains why your mother tried to _overlook_ my potato salad comment. She was so hopeful!" They were quiet a few minutes, enjoying the food and the weather, praising Frankie for his continued self-control. Then a thought occurred to Shauna and her smile softened. "I bet Speed would have been very impressed with you for introducing me to your parents."

Eric's eyes twinkled in response as he imagined the look that might have been on his friend's face, and he let loose a burst of buoyant laughter. "_That_ would have been an interesting conversation."


	9. Complicated Questions

"Shauna!" Eric knocked on her apartment door early in the morning, hoping she was out of bed but sure she wasn't. "Shauna! It's Eric!" He heard Frankie's big bark, heard the dog's nails clicking on the tile floor of the entryway as he patrolled the front of the apartment waiting for his mistress to appear. Eric tried again, banging on the door with his fist. "Shauna? Open up!"

Several long moments passed before he heard a sleepy female voice call off the Great Dane and turn the deadbolt. When she opened the door for him, Eric flashed her a smile that was part sympathy and part wicked enjoyment. "You're up."

Shauna yawned and gestured for him to come in. "I am now. Some crazy lunatic was banging on my door making all kinds of noise. Drove the dog nuts."

"You're the one that asked me to make sure you got up," he reminded her with a chuckle. "And I tried calling, but you didn't answer."

She trudged into the kitchen with Frankie close on her heals and Eric trailing behind. "Phone was in the living room," she told him, rubbing her eyes. "I didn't hear it."

Eric kissed her messy hair as he passed her on his way to grab Frankie's leash. "That's why I came over," he explained cheerfully. "So why don't you get your coffee going and I'll take the dog for his walk. We'll do a little male bonding."

"That sounds wonderful," she smiled gently. "Just keep a firm hold on the leash and distract him if you see any small animals—he likes to chase, even if it means dragging you along behind him."

"Got it." He took the leash down off its peg and headed back to the door, with Frankie now bouncing in excited circles. The CSI made the big dog sit while he clipped leash to collar, threw a wave at sleepy Shauna, and disappeared outside.

By the time they got back the smell of fresh coffee filled the apartment, complimented by the sound of scrambled eggs frying on the stove. Shauna, a bit more alert, chuckled when a confident Frankie trotted through the door leading a panting Eric. "Got your workout in for the day, didn't you?"

"I thought I was in good shape," he protested, unhooking the Dane and hanging the leash on its peg.

"Oh, you are," she teased, eyeing him with a playfully lecherous smile. Then, on a more serious note she added, "Young Mister Francis over there is into sprinting and darting—squirrels and frogs don't just sit still and let you catch them, you know. You're more of a long-distance endurance kind of guy, which is a whole different ball game."

Frankie dunked his face in his bowl of water, slopping the liquid around the kitchen floor in his exuberance, and Eric grinned, patting one of the dog's spotted flanks as he grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator. "Most definitely. But we had a good time…and I see you're focused enough to cook, now."

Shauna shuffled the eggs in her pan, trying to keep them from sticking too much. "Yes." She turned her blue eyes on him and smiled appreciatively. "Thanks for getting me up."

Eric plopped down on one of the bar stools underneath the pass-through window and gulped down some of the water. "My pleasure," he winked.

"I bet." She finished with the eggs and dolled them out onto two plates, directed Frankie out of the kitchen and joining Eric at the pass-though. "But since you were kind enough to do me a favor, the least I can do is feed you before you go to work."

"Actually, there's something I wanted to ask you," he returned, trying to cover his hesitance with feigned nonchalance. "Are you busy this weekend?"

Chewing a forkful of scrambled eggs, Shauna ran through her mental date book. "Just the usual work schedule, I think. Why, what'd you have in mind?"

Staring at his plate, Eric frowned. "I, uh…I wanted to go to the cemetery." His dark eyes met her bright ones, and he took her hand. "But I don't want to go alone."

"You don't have to," she confirmed, squeezing his fingers.

His frown deepened and he shifted on the bar stool. "I feel guilty, though…y'know? I haven't been to Speedle's grave since the funeral. Part of me wants to go, to pay my respects, but part of me is…scared. I'm finally starting to deal with everything, and I don't want to end up the way I was before."

Laying down her fork, she covered his hand with both of hers, smiling gently when he reciprocated with his free one. "I don't think that's going to happen—you've grown a lot in the time we've known each other. You're stronger than you think you are, Eric, especially since you've learned to ask for help when you need it."

"So you'll go with me?"

It was her turn to hesitate, not out of unwillingness, but out of concern for her friend. "Are you sure you don't want to go with someone else?"

Eric was confused, and it showed on his face. "Why? You're always there for me, Shauna; I tell you things I don't tell anyone else. You've been such a big part of my, uh, 'recovery'…who else would I want to be with?"

"Well, maybe you'd be better off going with someone who knew him," she countered softly.

"If you don't want to go, just say so," he told her snatching back his hands, his old reactionary anger creeping in.

"That's not it," she tried again, stroking his shoulder. "I just thought that the first time you go to his grave you should be with someone you can mourn _with_, not in front of. If it means that much to you, though, of course I'll go."

He was irritated now, and couldn't stop himself from lashing out. "Don't act like there's a quid pro quo here," he growled, pulling away from her and rising from the stool. "I came to get you up this morning because you told me Frankie had an early vet appointment and you're not a morning person. Don't come with me to my dead friend's grave because you feel like you owe me for that. Or worse…because you feel sorry for me."

"Eric, come on," she tried, reaching for him again. "That's not what this is. Thank you for waking me up this morning…I really do appreciate that, but it has nothing to do with going to the cemetery with you. If you want me there I'll go."

He turned toward her, briefly catching the hurt in her eyes, but stormed on. "No, don't worry about it. I'll just go by myself." Breezing past a hopeful Great Dane, he swept out of the apartment and banged the door shut behind him.

ooo

Unfortunately, the switch that flipped Eric's mood so quickly did not reverse itself with the same swiftness, and his resentment followed him to the Lab. He growled and snapped his way though the workday, doing his job competently enough but leaving a trail of disgruntled and offended coworkers in his wake.

Calleigh had heard whispers and complaints about him all day from the other staff members, and late in the afternoon found a minute to look in on him. "Hey," she smiled pleasantly, strolling into the Fingerprint Lab.

He was hunched over a computer, glaring at the screen as thousands of prints flashed by in search of a match to his evidence. He glanced up at her when she approached, his expression relaxing slightly. "Hey."

"Whatchya workin' on?" she asked, circling the table and eyeing the computer screen over his shoulder.

"The Callahan case," he replied brusquely.

"Looks like you've got a nice print there," she observed. "Shouldn't be too much trouble to match it to something."

Eric pressed his lips together and frowned deeply. "You'd think so. But this is the third database I've searched—" He banged his fist on the table when the computer beeped a "no match found" message at him. "—and I've got nothing!"

Like Shauna before her, Calleigh laid a hand on Eric's shoulder to soothe him. "Well, you'll just have to keep looking," she reminded him gently. The only response she received was a heavy sigh and a stony silence. "Hey," she said again, lowering her voice and squeezing his shoulder, "are you okay?"

His reaction was the same as that morning's. "Why does everyone keep asking me that?" he demanded, rising from his stool and shrugging away from her.

"Because you seem to be awfully upset over some pretty small stuff today," Calleigh told him, concern competing with the edge creeping into her voice.

"This case is _not_ small stuff!" Eric retorted quickly. "Somebody was murdered, and I have to find out who this fingerprint belonged to so the person responsible doesn't get away with it."

She waited a beat before continuing, choosing her words carefully. "I wasn't referring to the case, Eric. Of course that's important, but you've been walking around all day like you've got a burr under your saddle. Valera told me you practically took her head off in the DNA lab earlier."

"So you're gossiping about me now?"

She noted his raised eyebrow, the flash in his brown eyes, the willful set of his mouth, and knew he was determined to be angry. But she tried one more time. "Something's obviously bothering you today. Do you want to talk about it?"

"If I wanted to talk I'd call my shrink," he spat out, brushing past her on his way out the door.

"Maybe you should," she said pointedly.

Her statement stopped him in his tracks, and he turned to face her, index finger stabbing the air accusingly. "You think you know me…"

"I used to," she told him flatly. "But sometimes you're someone else, Eric. I know how difficult this last year has been, after losing Speedle, but you can't treat people like they don't matter, like you can just throw them away when you're done with them." Her voice rose with emotion, even as she tried to hold herself in check. "You don't see me doing that, or Horatio, or anyone else who knew Tim."

"Don't—"

She cut him off. "You weren't the only one who lost a friend that day, so don't walk around like you're the _one_ person in the world grieving." Her green eyes drilled his face, daring him to deny her statement.

He didn't, of course, but felt his spirits sink even lower when she strode briskly past him and out of the Fingerprint Lab, her head held as if to defy him and his anger.

ooo

That night Eric lay in his bed, eyes roaming the ceiling, begging sleep to come to his chaotic brain and save him from the images and sounds of his day. He saw the hurt written all over Calleigh's face, despite her best efforts to mask it, when she walked out of the Print Lab. He heard the disbelief in Shauna's voice when he'd lashed out at her. Bitterness bubbled up inside him, directed at both women and their dismissal of his feelings.

Just as he had dismissed theirs.


	10. Yesterday is Gone

A/N: I finally found a fitting ending for this piece (I think-endings are always the hardest for me). So here it is, the last chapter and a bit of an epilogue. Thanks to all of you that stuck with it through the long silence between updates, and to anyone else reading!

* * *

Despite Calleigh's suggestion, Eric did not call his psychologist in the days that followed. His regularly scheduled appointment was in just a couple of weeks, and he didn't like the feeling of dependency that came with a supplemental visit. For several days Eric didn't even think he had a problem, anyway—it was Calleigh and Shauna that had wronged _him_, that had treated _him_ so poorly. He'd lie in bed at night and seethe at the remembrance of the way Calleigh had automatically blamed his bad day on Speed's death, had so coldly thrown his grief in his face. He burned at Shauna's pity for him, unwilling to go with him to the cemetery until she realized he'd done her a favor that needed repaying.

Then he began to look at the situation from the other side.

One night, his body draped diagonally across his bed with his pillow clasped to his chest, Eric's mind drew upon his years of training and shifted from angry victim to objective CSI. He heard the cheer in Calleigh's voice when she'd entered the Print Lab, saw the concern hidden in her green eyes when she saw for herself that the whispers about his behavior that day were true.

"She came in to check on me," he muttered in the dark, shaking his head. "She came to _check on_ me."

He pulled the pillow up over his face, groaning in shame as understanding dawned. _She only snapped at me when I accused her of not knowing me…which of course she does, better than I do myself sometimes._

Another image popped up in his head: the disappointment and distress written on Shauna's face when he turned on her in her own kitchen. _All she was trying to do was help. Just like she always does._

Eric groaned again, rolling onto his stomach and burying his dark head in his arms. "I'm an idiot."

_And I have to fix this._

ooo

It was easy enough to find a private moment with Calleigh: he took her aside at a crime scene the very next day and apologized awkwardly but with his whole heart. She had looked into his eyes, reading his thoughts and the sincerity in his voice the way she always did, and given him a small nod. _We're okay._

Shauna had been harder to pin down. He tried calling her a few times, but with her contrary schedule he never got through to more than her voicemail. She didn't call back, either, and he couldn't decide if she was too angry to speak to him or giving him the space she thought he needed.

Either way, he decided to take a more proactive approach, driving over to her apartment and pulling into an empty spot in the parking lot. He felt a little bit like a stalker waiting there for her to come home, but if she wasn't going to return his calls he didn't see an alternative. He spent the next twenty minutes tapping his fingers against the steering wheel and fidgeting with the radio, rehearsing what he'd stay to Shauna when he saw her.

He was in the middle of a heartfelt apology when she pulled into the parking lot and climbed out of her truck, heading up the stairs to her apartment without even a cursory glance around. She let out a surprised screech when he laid a hand on her shoulder as she slid her key into her lock.

"Eric! You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"Sorry," he replied contritely. "I didn't mean to sneak up on you."

She took a deep breath and willed her pulse to slow, turning back to the key in the lock and swinging open the door, greeting an exuberant Frankie with pats and scratches. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to talk to you," he said simply, "and you haven't called me back."

The big dog saw his wrestling partner and rushed forward, halted from dashing out of the apartment by a quick command from Shauna. "Want to take a walk?" she asked Eric. When he nodded she allowed him inside while she put down her purse and grabbed Frankie's leash. The Great Dane did his usually happy dance by the door, then dropped into a sit to await his mistress. Eric stood by and couldn't help smiling, watching the long tongue loll out of Frankie's mouth until he snapped to attention.

Once Shauna had her pet leashed and her keys in her pocket, the three of them set off. Eric was careful not to walk too close to her, but elected not to keep too much distance between them either. "I'm sorry," he started.

Shauna gave him an appraising look similar to the one Calleigh had turned on him and nodded. "I know."

"You were just trying to help," he continued, inching closer to her as they strolled along. "Suggesting I go to the cemetery with someone who knew Speed is actually pretty logical, but all I heard was 'no I won't go with you'. Which, of course, isn't what you said."

She kept silent for a long moment, watching Frankie sniff his way around a big palm tree. "I'm sorry, too," she replied, lifting her eyes to his. "I've been busy—you know what my schedule's like—but I had time to call you….I just didn't."

"Were you avoiding me?" he asked quietly.

Frankie tugged on the leash and Shauna's attention reverted back to the dog. Sighing softly, she nodded again. "I was. I know in my head why you reacted the way you did, but my heart didn't quite understand."

He took her hand in his and squeezed it gently. "Shauna…"

"No, it's okay. My heart's figuring it out." Her gaze met his and she smiled. "And you have clearly seen the error of your ways."

They walked in companionable quiet for a time, holding hands, watching Frankie flush out small birds from bushes and wag his tail at passersby. When they returned to Shauna's door she unclipped the dog's leash and watched him bound across the apartment to his water bowl, gesturing Eric inside.

"If you still want me to go with you to the cemetery, I will," she told him, running a hand over his shoulder.

"After everything I said to you, you'd still go with me?"

She looked at him in surprise. "You're my friend."

"A very good friend." He pulled her into a spontaneous hug and kissed her hair, grinning when she slid her arms around him and squeezed in response. He kissed her cheek when he released her and shook his head. "I'm actually going with Horatio."

"Good." Her face flooded with relief. "Then I won't worry about you so much. But if you want some company afterwards…"

"Saturday," he responded, his grateful eyes meeting hers.

She smiled a small smile. "Then I'll see you Saturday."

000

Saturday evening found Eric at Shauna's door, his misery clearly defined in lines of his face. She slipped an arm around him and ushered him into her living room, feeling the tension in his body and wondering anxiously how close he was to his breaking point. A second knock on her door coupled with Frankie's barking delayed her answer, and she threw Eric an apologetic look as she hurried to get rid of whoever was calling.

Luckily it was only a neighbor dropping off some of her mail mistakenly delivered to him. A few quick steps brought her back to her living room where Eric was standing, staring out the window, his brown eyes shining with unshed tears. Gesturing to the dog to lay down, Shauna padded quietly over to her friend and laid a hand on his back.

He squeezed his eyes shut at her touch, willing himself to keep it together. But when her fingers began tracing soft circles over his taut muscles his composure splintered, and the tears began to slide down his cheeks. He felt the pressure on his back change, felt Shauna rubbing gentle lines with the palm of her hand, and the splinters began to disintegrate. He was desperately trying not to break down completely in front of her, frantic to maintain some of his pride.

When she kissed his shoulder, let her cheek rest against him in silent sympathy, he damned his pride, let go of his ego, and accepted her consolation. Turning into her arms, he buried his face in the crook of her neck and wept.


	11. Better in Time

Eric leaned against the bar, nodding his head in time with the pounding music as he awaited the bartender's return with his drink. He held his cell phone in one hand, kept checking for messages only to be disappointed by an empty screen again and again. When his drink arrived he pulled out some bills to cover the cost, but was interrupted before he could hand them over.

"Let me get that," a female voice purred in his ear.

He turned to find an attractive blond smiling seductively at him and grinned, sliding his money back in his pocket. "Thanks."

They made small talk for a few minutes until he glanced down at his phone again, and she called him on it. "Waiting to hear from someone? Girlfriend, maybe?"

"Just a friend," he answered lightly, taking a sip of his drink. "Not a girlfriend."

The woman ran a finger over his left hand, noting the absence of a ring on his third finger. "And not married, either."

His grin widened. "Nope." Of course, it was then that his phone lit up with an incoming text, and his eyes darted to it. _I'm on my way._

She noticed his eagerness. "Whoever she is, you're excited to see her."

"Yeah," he admitted, seeing his chance with this girl slipping away. "I'm excited to see you, too, though."

She stuck around for a little while longer, flirting shamelessly with him and enjoying his jovial responses. But the thought that he was waiting for another woman lurked in the back of her mind and, just a friend or not, she decided to bail. "Look, if your friend doesn't show, come find me."

"I will," he returned, watching her walk away in to the crowd with appreciative eyes. He was still staring after her when his phone lit up a second time. _I'm here._

Glancing up, his eyes searched the bar methodically, the way they always did at a crime scene. It took several moments in the swirling, colorful crowd, but he finally spotted her near the patio and made his way over to her.

"Hi Shauna."

She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. "Hi Eric."

"You know you just cost me a date with a beautiful woman," he chided her, his expression shifting to sudden disapproval. "Or, at the very least, a hook-up."

She studied him closely in the low light, trying to decide if he was truly upset with her. "What was her name?"

Eric shrugged in response, maintaining the stern set of his mouth and eyes for a long moment. "I don't have my badge on me this time. It's in the truck."

Shauna shot him a warning look and his seriousness melted into laughter. She swatted him playfully and unleashed a relieved sigh.

"I was tempted, though," he confessed. "Very tempted."

"But you didn't go through with it."

He shrugged again. "Nope."

She beamed at him proudly, gave his shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "Steps in the right direction."

"_This_ is the right direction." Taking her hand, he drew her into the crowd where they disappeared among the dancers, his smile radiating all the way up into his dark eyes.


End file.
